


at first there are no flowers (all the seeds are underground)

by chateauofmyheart



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Drinking, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Female Brian May, Female Freddie Mercury, Female John Deacon, Female Roger Taylor (Queen), Femslash, Meet-Cute, Origins, because lesbians!, brianna is a bit intense but thats okay, but leading up to poly queen, freddie is flirtatious and not even on purpose, johanna is a small gay trying to survive, king AU, like 1970 before johanna joined, mostly deacury, really early queen era, rogeretta is just here for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 13:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18136547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chateauofmyheart/pseuds/chateauofmyheart
Summary: "Johanna sipped her drink and watched the group leave the stage. They were interesting, certainly, she mused.'King', they called themselves, which was... bold."





	at first there are no flowers (all the seeds are underground)

**Author's Note:**

> the lack of fem queen fics is disappointing but not surprising (men will always be prioritised in fandom, like everywhere else) so i took it upon myself to write this little thing for this new series i'm planning! its gonna be my take on the king au- aka everything is the same except they're all girls
> 
> i'll still be working on my queen + rare words series, but now i can also write about girls loving each other because hell yeah!!

Johanna sipped her drink and watched the group leave the stage. They were interesting, certainly, she mused.

“King”, they called themselves, which was... bold. All female, except for the bass player, who seemed to be making up for that fact by the way he puffed out his chest and refused to look at the audience.

The lead singer was magnetic as she strutted across the stage, looking glamorous and dangerous all at once in a dark number. It sent a burst of excitement through Johanna’s gut that she chalked up to adrenaline and refused to examine further.

The guitarist, wandering slowly through the intense focus of her solo, had possibly the longest legs Johanna had ever seen, and a guitar that must’ve been an original. (Privately, she decided it would’ve sounded better if she modified that amp slightly.) Her loose top was a perfect contrast to the lead singer’s skintight one, floating gracefully around bony forearms.

Whoever was behind those drums was more storm than person- Johanna had never heard drums hit that hard before. The sound filled the air like rainwater. She caught sight of slim bare arms blurring under the harsh lights.

The group was, in all, fairly talented individually (minus the man, who Johanna was hardly intimidated by), but far from a well-oiled machine. It was hard not to wince when the singer very nearly whacked the bassist, who’d been edging towards center stage, in the head with her mic stand. 

_Not a group for much longer though_ , Johanna thought idly, as the lead singer, looking like a hurricane with sleek hair and platform boots, stepped down from the stage and whipped around towards him. Her voice, powerful and alluring as it was onstage, held low. Johanna couldn’t decipher a word- though from watching the performance, she had a reasonable idea of the woman’s grievances. The bass player snarled something back, red-faced.

Johanna turned back to the bar, uninterested in the row happening behind her. Petty arguments were far from interesting. But for some reason, she found herself glancing over her shoulder as the voices grew louder.

 

“Fuck you, Bulsara!” 

The singer drew up, fists clenched and chin forward. “That’s not my name” she hissed. Her body was pulled tight like guitar string. Johanna swallowed, wondering if this was going to get physical. The pretty singer looked able to hold her own, but the bassist was nearly a foot taller and a man, to boot. Her eyes tracked the way the drummer’s shadow tensed by the door.

“You’re such a pretentious little bitch.” From her place on the unlit stage, as she packed away her gear, the guitarist sent him a sharp glance through her unruly perm. Johanna’s eyes slid back to lead singer, curiosity pawing at her. That had been a warning look.

“Yes, I am,” she said with a flourish, one jewel-encrusted glove flicking back that dark hair, “and if you don’t like it then you can fuck right off.” _(And god, if that wasn’t attractive, seeing her dismiss him like that-)_

“Fine! Find another bass player, I quit.” He turned on his heel, making just as dramatic an exit as the group he’d just left. The bar had quieted to watch the spectacle, but now returned to its usual buzz, drunkards once more uninterested in anything apart from their own drunkenness.

The drummer, visible in the back door shadows by her choppy, home-cut bangs, stuck up her pointer finger at his back. (She wasn’t wearing a bra under her open shirt, Johanna noted distantly, but instead had cloth wrapped over her chest. Her gut squirmed slightly in interest, which she did her best to ignore.) The guitarist stepped closer to the singer and bent forward, murmuring something into her cheek. It was quiet and intimate under the lowlight, sensual in a way that had Johanna averting her eyes.

 

* * *

 

A body pressed against the wood of the bar next to her arm. Spine tingling, Johanna looked up to find the lead singer gazing down at her. Sweat glittered across her collarbones like the gemstones along the shoulders of her v-neck. Heavy, dark eyeliner traced her eyes, making her look devilish.

“Sorry for that horrendous display, dear.” Her voice was so much _softer_ off stage, it made Johanna’s breath catch. But there was still a power to it that made her tremble at the same time. She didn’t know how to respond.

“My name’s Frederica.” Her heavy lids dipped, revealing the shimmer of eyeshadow as she glanced down. “Mercury.” She held out a hand. Johanna offered her right hand back, prepared for a handshake. Delicate fingers curled under her palm. She watched, as if in slow motion, as the woman raised it to her mouth. 

Her soft lips pressed onto the skin like a wax seal. Johanna fought the urge to yank her hand back. It burned like a promise.

She risked a glance up to the singer’s- Frederica’s eyes. To her immense relief, they were closed, long lashes accented by kohl whispering over sharp cheekbones. Johanna’s head spun, and she could barely convince herself it was only the drinks she’d had. It was an eternity before the singer pulled back, releasing Johanna’s hand to fall limply to the side.

She felt as if she’d just been strangled. Greeted by an expectant smile, she choked out a “Johanna Deacon” and tried to ignore the way her hand tingled.

“Well then, Johanna,” Frederica said slowly, weighing her name in her mouth, rolling her wicked tongue over the shape of it, “did you like the show?”

Johanna finished off her drink. Contemplated the bar top for a moment. Pushed aside the lightness in her chest. “It was alright.”

Frederica raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips slightly.

“You’re going to need a better bass player, though.” 

She laughed, a gentle, happy sound that echoed in Johanna’s head long after it stopped. “Well after tonight, certainly!” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I always thought he was a bit shit.”

She leaned back and flagged the bartender. Her hands held up two fingers and then some complicated gesture Johanna’s tipsy mind couldn’t follow. (A local group, then.)

“He could barely keep up! He never would have been able to do the solo I have in mind for a new song of mine.” Frederica rolled her eyes despairingly.

Johanna perked up despite herself. “You wrote those songs?” For the first time that night, she was truly impressed.

Two drinks slid down the bar on front of them. Frederica held one of them out in offering. “Not all of them, but yes, I do write quite a bit.” Her smile was a bashful little thing, not a hint of that earlier pride. It curved perfectly around the rim of her glass. Johanna subconsciously shifted closer.

“Freddie? Rog’s got the van ready to go.”

It was the curly-haired guitarist. Johanna found her eyes traveling up those impossibly long legs until she was craning her head back just to see her face.

Frederica sighed- though what she was disappointed about Johanna couldn’t guess- and threw back her glass. A manicured hand motioned lazily towards her expectant band mate.

“This is Brianna, our resident guitarist and space nerd.” The guitarist shook her head, fighting a smile. The white fabric of her top fluttered with the movement. Johanna noticed a smear of black at the corner of her eyes.

“And I see you’ve met Freddie, our resident lead singer and art nerd” she tilted her head, curls bouncing. Johanna looked back at Frederica- Freddie?- before nodding in acknowledgement.

“I’m Johanna.” Brianna offered a sweet, polite smile, canines poking out over her lips, and held out her hand. Johanna hesitated, wondering if she was going to get another bizarre and rather flustering kiss, but Brianna had mercy on her. She could feel guitar string calluses along bony fingers as she gripped them. Brianna seemed to feel the corresponding ones on her own hands. She stepped forward.

“You play?” Curious hunger reflected in the bar light gleam of her eyes. Johanna shivered. The kiss mark on her hand burned.

“Yes.” She found herself dropping her eyes, avoiding the needle point pierce of her gaze.

“What model?”

“Ah, um- a Jetglo Rickenbacker.” Johanna fumbled, looking back up. “Four thousand and one.”

“A Rickenbacker?” Brianna’s eyelids dipped, narrowed. “You play bass?”

Beside her, Frederica gasped. “Bass? Why didn’t you say anything, darling?” She pressed closer, arm pressing into Johanna’s chest. Her face was inches away.

“This is fantastic! We’re going to have tryouts next Thursday. At Imperial College- you know where that is?” Johanna nodded, head spinning. “Right, so we’ll be in the jazz hall- that little room, you know, we’ve got it reserved for practice and such.”

Frederica smelled of sweat and elegant cologne, a heady scent that made her feel much more drunk than she currently was. Dark eyes shone. She nodded again, though she’d lost track of what she was agreeing to.

“Brilliant!” She stood up, smile brighter than the sun, large teeth fully visible. Johanna bit back a stray thought of _’come back’_. Frederica left with a “see you soon, love!” and a toss of sleek black hair. 

The guitarist gave her one last assessing look, head tilted (rather cutely) and followed.

 

Johanna sat alone at the bar. She stared at the drink Frederica had given her- dark red and fruity smelling, how strangely fitting- and tried to slow her racing heart.

_What._

The whine of a guitar harmonized with the ringing in her head. The next group was starting, drums picking up and a bright voice addressing the audience. She didn’t turn around.

“You gonna drink that?”

Johanna’s knees hit the bar top with a painfully embarrassing thud. Whoever it was behind her waited silently as she doubled over, rubbing the aching skin. She cursed under her breath.

A hand landed on the bar top beside her ducked head. Johanna trailed her eyes up the rather toned arm to messy blonde hair and met the half-lidded eyes watching her. The drummer. “Rog”, or whatever as the guitarist- Brianna had referred to her as.

Johanna glanced back to the nearly-forgotten drink in question. Her heart jumped a little remembering Frederica’s shy smile. 

“Probably not.”

“Alright” the drummer said and, without further ado, picked it up and threw it back in one go. Johanna trailed her eyes along her sweat-slick neck down her shining torso helplessly. Her mind flashed a glimpse of a similarly shiny chest and she shook her head, flinging the image away and feeling the tickle of her hair as it brushed across her shoulders.

“Thanks” was nearer to a gasp than a word when it left the drummer’s lips. She bobbed her head slightly. “I’m Rogeretta, by the way.”

“Johanna.”

The drummer didn’t offer her hand. The echo of a kiss whispered in Johanna's mind.

She placed the empty glass upside down, leaning forward into Johanna’s space to do it. Johanna barely resisted flinching away, the glass hitting the polished wood decisively. “Right, I’m off. You good goin’ home?” Her voice had a quiet rasp to it that Johanna could smell in the cigarette scent of her skin.

“I’ll be fine” she assured, a little shocked that Rogeretta was asking at all. The drummer shrugged and turned to the door. 

“Hope you come see us again!” She shot Johanna a friendly smile, one eyebrow crooked up. It contrasted with the sway of her hips as she walked off, leaving Johanna confused and reeling once more. She caught a glimpse of shimmering black fabric as back door swung shut. 

Johanna ordered another drink.

 

* * *

 

Later, Johanna sat with her Rickenbacker, alone. The frets hummed under her fingertips as she stared at the bare, water-stained ceiling of her tiny flat. The address to Imperial College was found and scrawled out in the corner of her engineering textbook. The wax-seal promise had melted into the skin on the back of her hand.

“King”.

_Huh._

**Author's Note:**

> this is far from my best work, and certainly won't have the same reach because its girls, but tell me what you think! any suggestions for what you want to see from this au? hmu in the comments, they're my bread n butter :)


End file.
